


Towered Distress

by RougueShadowWolf



Series: 15 Minutes [218]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Always Female Stiles Stilinski, Assassination Attempt(s), Child Abandonment, Child Neglect, F/M, Female Stiles Stilinski, Hurt Stiles, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Plague, Werewolf Isaac Lahey, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 16:16:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20678276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RougueShadowWolf/pseuds/RougueShadowWolf
Summary: When Raeken made his move, a move to kill him, Isaac never thought his good wife would take the blade for him. Then again, his wife had always surprised him, and so perhaps he should’ve seen it coming.





	Towered Distress

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings roommate! I know this dungeon is rather gloomy, but it really isn’t half that bad, sure, there’s the issue of flooding at times and it does get freezing cold. But it’s rather quiet, when I’m sleeping. 
> 
> I have to confess this round of 15Minutes happened back in the start of August, but due to things I had very little control over the stories weren’t posted and then I forgot to do it, well, I thought I had done it but obviously hadn’t. This mistake went unknown until ItAlmostWorked! went hunting for a couple of the stories I wrote only to find nothing. So, now I’m trying to right and wrong. 
> 
> Everyone who is familiar with this series, please skip this part and head straight to A SLIGHT CHANGE, those unfamiliar with this series please stay and learn certain details of this series. The story you appear to be curious to read, was written in 15Minutes, which cause me to write a panicked mess of a story as a payment to my 6 friends. Once the time has runout, I have to share my creation with them, there is no time to fix mistakes or make the story good, it simply is what it is. There will be bad grammar and plenty of typos, and if such things bother you, then I recommend you leave and thus keep your sanity. However, if you dare to continue on this path of reading my story, and ignore my warning and advice, follow me down to A SLIGHT CHANGE for there is more you need to know.
> 
> A SLIGHT CHANGE in this round isn’t an increase in time, but rather a theme such as female Stiles, so if female Stiles isn’t your cup of tea leave now and have a wonderful day. Although we have a theme to follow, UnfriendlyRubyDragonfly still had the power to make a few wishes for her tale, and what she wanted was an arranged marriage fic with Stiles and Isaac, she wanted Isaac to either be a Lord or a King, she also wanted a look into Isaac’s life before he was married to Stiles and the life after marrying her. She wanted also for Isaac to either lose Stiles or come close to it, which she dropped suddenly at the ten-minute mark which had me in near hysterical tears in trying to work it into the story. Oh, trust me, I gave her hell for it once the time ran out. NEVER AGAIN will anyone get to drop a wish in the middle of me writing, NEVER AGAIN!

The crowd had gathered in the great plaza, all facing the great and tall building that towered high and mighty before them all, the noise of the enraged people was near deafening as he pushed through the gathered masses. His private guards struggled to make a safe path for him through the angry masses, doing their best to keep the people from approaching him, from touching him, and yet now and again a hand would reach out to touch him, and grab at his now bloodied garments.

Reaching the tower, Isaac found his closest of friends standing outside the great iron-doors, both men appearing rather intimidating where they stood waiting, arms crossed and eyes watching the unruly crowed with sharp-eyes. Now words were exchanged between the three of them, a simple nod in greeting was all before Boyd moved to knock on the solid door, and soon the doors opened-up for them.

Leaving his men to surround the tower, alongside those serving under Derek and the Hale banner, Isaac stepped inside the familiar tower closely flanked by his most trusted friends. Isaac was immediately greeted by the unnaturally cool air of the tower, even now as the summer days were long and unpleasantly warm, the tower remained cold, which considering the day he’d had the familiarity of sorts felt rather welcoming.

Moving towards the only set of stairs which climbed to the very top of the tower where the room of judgment sat waiting for him, Isaac caught sight of his reflection in the grand old mirror with the gilded frame that held the craved words of _See not just the_ _faults of others, but also thy own._ Isaac had spent many days standing before this very mirror, reading those words of guidance as he grew-up in isolation, his first companion had been his nursemaid who was swiftly changed to the only father figure he’d ever had, Master Finstock.

While his older-brother, one he had never had the privilege of meeting, was allowed to grow-up in the sort of splendor and never made to suffer hunger or fear the chill of winter, Isaac and Master Finstock were made to survive on very little.

Isaac knew that if his brother hadn’t perished before fathering an heir of his own, then Isaac’s life would’ve been much different from what it had become once the plague hadn’t claimed the life of his older-brother and his pregnant wife. Their father had been a traditionalist, to the extreme which was also one of the reasons his people had been made to suffer under the rule of an inept man, and so if his brother had managed to father a son who lived then Isaac’s father would’ve swiftly gotten rid of Isaac; his options would’ve been limit, between accepting death or being sent away to the monastery in the great mountains of the north, and once there Isaac would’ve been swiftly castrated to ensure he did not father a child that might come to demand none-existing birth-rights.

Isaac spent many hours fearing for his future as a child, and whenever he was not sat down at his small desk, doing his best to learn as much as possible to please Master Finstock who had been of the mind that Isaac should be as well-educated as any high-born, after all as the odd man had said, `_Future, dear boy, is never set in stone, so, always be prepared for the unexpected_. ´ As a small child, standing before this very mirror, Isaac had never imagined he’d have a chance to escape the future he’d been made to expect by the guards of the tower, but here Isaac stood not dead nor castrated, but a full-grown man stained in blood.

The fears of his childhood were but a memory now, and a far greater had today taken hold of his heart and mind, and this fear he could see in the eyes of his reflection.

Although the fine material of his clothes, carefully chosen by his wife earlier that morning, spoke of a man of great wealth the blood and dirt, the torn collar of his tunic, his overall disheveled appearance made him seem to himself at least less like the honorable nobleman he ought to be.

Isaac does not feel at the moment like the gentleman, the good Lord and Master his wife had demanded him to be, she was the courage that had made him break from traditions that had driven the people of his land to starvation and ruin. He looks nothing like the man he’d been as the morning sun rose and painted Cathedral of The Nine Divines in a golden light, causing the statues and carved images upon the white walls appear gilded, much had changed since he climbed the seven-steps and entered the Cathedral he and his wife had spent a fortune on repairing; it had been the passion project of his wife, every piece of art, be it the stained glass windows to the artworks she had commissioned to replace the artwork his father had sold long ago, his wife had overseen the reconstruction of the cathedral with the same determination she possessed whenever she set her mind on something.

Today should’ve been a day when all the hard work his wife had done during the past five-years should’ve been acknowledged and celebrated, for she had worked so hard to drag his ruined land out of poverty, misery and kept him from losing it, this was to be the day she would finally accept to wear the silver crown of roses, a symbol for being the mother of his people; instead, there were no celebrations, no music and dance, no ceremony to honor his wife for her devotion to him and the people she’d accepted as her people, all there was blood and pain, and anger.

When Isaac’s father had informed him a year after his release from the tower that he were to marry some young lady from some small kingdom he knew very little about, Isaac knew what to expect from his intended, other than that she was not of noble-birth but rather the daughter of a commoner who had enough wealth to draw the interest of his father; she’d been but fifteen on their wedding day, and Isaac had turned seventeen just a month prior to her arrival, and although Isaac had not been impressed with her appearance, he’d done his duty and married the young lady, who had glared daggers at him from the moment she’d entered the great cathedral and the hour-long ceremony that bound them until death did them part, she continued to glare at him through the four hour long feast and it was with a glare she’d greeted him in their bedchamber.

Isaac had known what to expect from his wedding-night, his father had a lengthy talk with him about it, and so had his father-in-law who had rather bluntly informed warned him that if he learned that Isaac had forced himself upon his daughter, then death would part his daughter from her no good husband before the next sunset; however, what Isaac had been expecting as he entered the chamber that had once belonged to his brother and his wife, wasn’t what he actually did find, since his wife was neither in a state of undress or dressed in a nightgown, instead she was still dressed in her wedding-dress, and instead of waiting for him in bed, he’d found her sitting behind the desk she’d had moved closer to the fire.

Years-later, five-years spent together with the woman he’d never intended to love, Isaac still could vividly recall every detail of that moment when it truly hit him that hadn’t just married a subservient wife or one who had been only educated to be a respectable for a respectable husband; seeing her fingers already stained with ink as she scribbled away furiously at the desk that dwarfed her, a look of furious determination set upon her rather plain features, had dumbed him down for a moment and left him standing by the door with his mouth agape.

Without glancing at him, without ceasing her writing, she’d asked him, ` _Will you continue to be the shadow of your father, or carve your own name into the books of history? _´ Her sharp question, full of hidden distain, had startled him and left him speechless, which had earned him a disappointing sight from his wife, who sat her quill down and looked him straight in the eye before speaking once more, `I will not suffer a husband who sits and does nothing while his people suffer. So, tell me, husband, have I married a good man or a weak man? ´

Isaac felt ashamed now that it had taken him years to the true wonder and beauty of his wife, certainly he’d begun to admire the moment she stood-up against his father who thought he could beat her into submission, unfortunately for his father the moment he’d laid a hand on her wheels were set in motion; and before the bruises had faded, before the painful split on her lip had healed, his father was declared mad, the transition of power hadn’t been fluent and the traditionalists raged and roared against his father being stripped of his powers, but his wife outmaneuvered each of them and before her their first-year-anniversary came to be she’d already won over the people of their land.

There was no doubt in Isaac’s broken heart that he would forever regret the years it had taken him to fall in love with his good wife, the time it took him to treat Stiles with the love and devotion she’d earned the moment she’d asked him, on their first-night as husband and wife, about his dreams for his future and then set out to make his dreams come true.

It had taken him three-years to finally feel something like want towards his wife, before that she’d felt like nothing more than a partner in business and the affairs of the state, and even a friend with whom he could speak and argue without fear of losing said friendship, and she’d always known how to lighten the burdens he felt and made him laugh even on days he felt unable to do so; still, it took him three-years feel something towards her that he’d only heard bards and poets speak about, certainly he’d realized a two-years into their marriage that he would grieve his wife if she were to leave him, not until their third-year that was fast approaching their fourth did a new flower of affection and want bloom inside him.

Perhaps it was due to his near maddening devotion to undo the damage the bad governing and corruption of his father and grandfathers reign had brought, that took away his ability to look upon his wife and she the woman she’d become while he was not watching; certainly he’d heard many men whisper of her grace and beauty, her strength and goodness, he’d listened with a sense of satisfaction when songs were sang about her virtues and beauty, felt pleased even when poets spoke so highly of his good wife. He’d beamed proudly whenever it reached his ears that an Emissary, a merchant or some noble who had visited his land spoke of not only the beauty of the ever-growing city and the wonders it held, but also spoke with wonder about his rare gem of a wife; her beauty praised as equally as her intelligence, and so artist from around the world came to paint her portrait each commissioned by their good lords and masters.

And yet, it had taken him three-years to finally feel desires of a lover. 

When his wife had left him for a month, visiting her father and attending the wedding of a childhood friend, Isaac was for the first-time made to suffer the loneliness of separation, one that none of his friends or work could distract him from; before the first-week had passed, Isaac began to daily routine of writing letters to his wife, and each morning a courier was sent away with a letter from him to his wife, and whenever a courier came to him with a letter from her he was overjoyed and when not he felt miserable.

The month-long separation had been agony to him then, but it also opened his eyes to the fact he could not see his life without her, and during her four-day journey across the stormy seas he’d begun to fear that God and his eight divines would deny him the chance to be a proper husband to his wife; he’d worried so much so about never kissing his wife with the passion of a man in love, that he spent four-days on his knees in the chapel of their home, praying for God and his divines to grant his wife safe travel.

_I have wasted too many years_, he thinks bitterly now, eyes stinging with tears he could not shed now.

Focusing his attention on his reflections, distracting himself from thoughts of regret, Isaac takes in the details of his reflection, the soft curls atop his head are an uncontrolled mess and it is a sad sight since he can tell it is not from the long delicate fingers of his beloveds doing. The thought of possibly never again feeling Stiles combing her fingers through his hair while she softly spoke to him in the privacy of their bedchamber, it clawed at him like a demented beast. The prospect of never feeling her press a soft kiss at the top of his head as he worked at his desk, a kiss that always held a touch of love and affection, it made his soul ache.

Seeing the bloodied handprint of his wife upon his cheek, causes a tear to escape from his sad-eyes. Closing his eyes while he brings his hand to rest where the delicate hand of his wife had rested while panic and chaos reigned, her hand stained with the blood that had flowed cruelly from the deep wound at her side. The noise of the people gathered outside the tower aren’t enough to chase away the haunting whisper of his wife.

`_I – I love you. ´_he’d barely heard her say as he hurried down the steps of the Cathedral, feeling her blood soak through the fabric of the dress he’d bought for her.

`_Isaac. My love,_ ´ her breathless words had been difficult for him to hear as he ran to the safety of the carriage, it was only as she touched his cheek that his attention was drawn back to her,`_ Never forget, never forget that - that you – that you were loved, by me. ´_

Isaac hadn’t said he loved her back, no, he’d clung to her body as his men fought to get him and Stiles to safety, instead he’d cursed at her and yelled angrily at her, telling her she was stupid for coming between and the assassins, after all he would mend easily enough while she did not. The fear, the concern for the survival of his wife had made him mean and angry, and still she’d looked upon him with such undeserving love that Isaac would forever hate himself for failing to love Stiles the way she’d deserved to be loved from day-one as his wife. 

`_I did – I did not wish to see you hurt._ ´she’d whispered before her eyelids grew too heavy and her hand slipped off of his face, her body going unnaturally still in his arms as they reached the carriage. 

Breathing in a shaky breath, Isaac unsealed his eyes, glaring at his reflection with golden-eyes.

Stiles hadn’t called him a monster, nor an abomination when it became clear that the monstrosity that had attacked him during a hunting trip last-autumn wasn’t just any monster, he’d managed to cut the creatures head right off of its thick neck with his sword before the creature fell into the raging rapids. She hadn’t been afraid of him, not once, not even the first-time the shift had taken hold of him in the middle of an argument, one born from him not believing her when she was convinced he’d been bitten by a werewolf; of course, as always she’d been right and he’d proven her right by sprouting sharp fangs and claws, his eyes bleeding-yellow as he’d called her insane, and still she’d not looked upon him in fear but rather fascination and wonder.

`_No matter what, Isaac, you are my husband. ´ _she’d said, as she stood between him and his chosen exit, `_And come what may, I am your wife_. ´ she had told him firmly, reaching out to frames his less than human face, and as their foreheads connected she whispered with such devotion that he could not help but once more yield to her will, `_And whatever God throws our way, husband of mine, I will face it without fear in my heart for you are with me, and I am with you. ´_

`I can’t lose her. ´ Isaac whispers, just loud enough for Derek and Boyd to hear him, but not nearly loud enough for unwanted human ears to hear his spoken words or the way his voice breaks. His bloodied hand goes to rest above the locket that lay hidden beneath layers of fine-fabric which were stained in the blood of his wife, and ever so little with his own blood.

She had given him the locket when he had to travel with his army to help protect the borders of the Hale-land when they’d called for his aid, the portrait inside the locket was of her and it had helped anchor him during their first full-moon apart; she’d wished to come with him, but she remained in the safety of their city as he had begged her, and every day they had corresponded with lengthy letters each ending with never ending love.

`Know your wife. ´ Derek says then, his voice sure and firm, they had grown close while fighting side-by-side.

`Trust her strength. Her stubbornness. Her will is greater than the will of most alphas. ´ Derek continued, giving Isaac’s shoulder a firm squeeze, `She argue with Death until he flees, and it not, she will bend the All-maker to her will for she will not leave without a proper fight. ´

There was no denying that his wife was stubborn, but there were simply certain things in life that not even Stiles’ will couldn’t stop or change, a mountain would remain a mountain no matter how loudly she berated it for standing between her and her goals.

Steadying is mind, and straightening his spine, Isaac forced himself appear less like a man who was losing the love of his life, a man who was losing the only thing in his life that really mattered.

With a deep breath, head held defiantly high, Isaac turned around to face the narrow stairs which he would climb once more. Followed closely by Boyd and Derek, Isaac starts towards the stairs that his Master Finstock had forced him to run up several times a day, and the stronger Isaac became the more creative Master Finstock became with his exercise routine, such as forcing Isaac to climb the climb the stairs by the use of his hands only; although the man had clearly been unhinged, and still was, Master Finstock had ensured that Isaac left the Tower not only wise enough to survive outside the tower, but that he was also physically strong to handle the abuse his father had been ready to rain down on him.

Isaac had kept on training his body even after he was separated from Finstock, which was most likely why many considered him as the finest example of male beauty, and why some of their more famous sculptures and paints modeled their art after his likeness.

Isaac isn’t the slightest bit surprised to find the priests under the service of the last-heir of the Raeken’s coming towards him, where else would these men be when the life of their young lord hanged on the line; still, although Isaac isn’t surprised to see the men in burgundy, each wearing too many jewels to be seem acceptable for men serving God, the sight of these men still makes his hackles rise.

`Save your soul, good Lord, save your soul. ´ are the words spoken by the desperate elder-priest of the Raeken household, his fat fingers adorned with lavish rings clinging tightly to the holy book, his companions taking turns praying for Gods and the Divines good guidance and for mercy upon Raeken’s wretched soul; God and the Divines might show Raeken’s soul some mercy, but Isaac would not, not after what had been done to his wife.

Isaac starts to move past the elder-priest, deciding to ignore the old-fool who’d no doubt seen the birth of Theodor Raeken as was the tradition of family-priests to do, but then man grabs him by the arm and speaks unwisely words that would cause the false façade of calm Isaac had displaying to fall.

`Show those who have wronged you, good lord, show them mercy, and…´ before this man who wore around his neck the elaborate Raeken-family cross, manages to finish speaking, Isaac had him by the throat and pinned him to the cold stone wall. The holy book stopped and left splayed out on the damp and cold stone floor.

`Show them mercy?! ´ Isaac roars as he puts further pressure against the elder-priest of the Raeken-household windpipe, his voice echoing no doubt through the whole tower all the way up to the men waiting for him. 

`Show them mercy! Show them mercy when they showed none to my wife! ´ yells into the fat-face of the priest who’d lost all control of his bladder when Isaac had first roared.

Clawing desperately at Isaac’s wrist, trying to dislodge the hold he had of the elder-priest, the old-man with thinning grey-hair, chokes out a promise, `I swear to thee, Lord Raeken never wished any harm to come to the good lady. ´

`And why, ´ Isaac spits out, rage and sorrow clawing at his heart, `why should I believe that when the very dagger I’d gifted him was driven into the flesh of my wife! ´

Derek leans closer, and to Isaac’s great shock whispered into his ear, `He’s telling the truth, Isaac. His heart didn’t skip. ´

Isaac immediately glances over at Boyd who confirms this information with a short nod, but before Isaac can argue that perhaps the priest didn’t know that Raeken intended to not only kill him but his wife too, one of the younger priests speaks.

`I swear to you. I swear to you, my Lord had plans to wed the good lady. Not kill her, for a man cannot marry the dead. ´

`What did you say? ´ Isaac asks, releasing his hold of the elder-priest who had by now gone a peculiar shade of purple, the heavy body dropping to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

`What? What did you say? ´ Isaac asks once more, moving towards the younger priest, who seemed increasingly nervous now that he had Isaac’s full-attention.

`Lord Raeken had intentions of forming a union with the good Lady, he had even sought the blessings of the High Council, as well as the support of Duke Argent and a few other noblemen. ´ the young nervous priest tells him, holding his book of prayers almost like a shield between them.

`And did he get it? The blessing, did he get the blessing of the High Council? ´ Derek enquires, voice a low growl, and the young man nods.

`I believe, that the reason for the incident at the cathedral was because he could no longer wait, and so as soon as he had the required documents he acted. ´ the young priest continues, eyeing nervously both Isaac and his companions.

` What was he thinking? ´ Derek asks then, visibly baffled by the actions of the last of the Raeken-bloodline, `Surely, surely, he would’ve known that Stiles wouldn’t have agreed to marry him. ´ Isaac knows this to be true, Stiles had worked to bring peace between the Lahey’s and the Raeken’s, but she’d never been shy about expressing how deeply she disliked Raeken.

`She can barely stand to be in the same room as him, why would he ever think she’d willingly marry him? ´ Isaac enquires, a none too sane laugh leaving him, a laugh that dies down when Boyd speaks.

`The Marriage of Necessity. ´

A chill, unpleasant, spreads through Isaac at this, and he looks to his friend and then the young priest who bowed his head in shame.

`No. No. That’s not possible, they would need more than just the blessing of the High…´ Derek starts but Boyd counters his argument with, `They’d need the support of at least eight noblemen and their elder-priests, and I’m guessing Raeken has their support, yes? ´

Isaac watches in absolute horror as the young priest nods.

`They would force my grieving wife into an unwanted marriage, ´ Isaac croaks, stumbling over to the stairs and sitting down on those familiar steps, he feels dizzy with emotions, ` Force her to marry a man she can’t stand? And he – he would…´

` It was the best way, ´ the elder-priest croaks from where he’s not sitting on the floor, `the best way to ensure stability in the region. ´ Isaac glares murderously at the elder-priest, `It was my god Lord Raeken’s wish to marry the good lady, he wanted everything that came with being…´

Isaac is up from where he’d momentarily been seated, only just managing to stop himself from punching the elder-priest in the face, a blow that would’ve no doubt caused his fat-face to cave-in, instead Isaac directs the blow into the stone wall next to the head of the visibly alarmed priest.

`You are an abomination. ´ Isaac roars, struggling still to not kick and beat the life of the old-man.

`I did what I had to do, ´ the elder-priest cries out, `I did what I had to do, to serve Lord Raeken as best I could. That is my duty, that was my promise to his dearly departed mother. He wanted the good Lady, wanted her from the very first-day he laid his eyes on her, why do you think he was so eager to make peace with your family? It was all to get closer to her. ´

` You should’ve directed his attentions elsewhere. ´ Derek points out, his hand wrapped around tightly the handle of his sword.

`Ones the boy sets his mind on something, ´ the still breathless priest responds almost defensively, `Nothing, nothing, will change his mind. It is simply better for all to humor him, to aid him. ´

`Better? Better for my wife who lays dying because of him! ´ Isaac screams then, and there’s a moment of something edging along regret to be seen in the eyes of the elder-priest, but it is but fleeting.

`Traitors, all of them. ´ Derek growls, and those words are enough to cause Isaac to step-back from the elder-priest, because yes, everything Raeken and his cohorts were nothing but filthy traitors.

Turning his attention towards the two trembling priests, ignoring the elder-priest, Isaac gives the two younger-males a chance to save their necks, `I will spare the two of you, if you will give Sir. Boyd here the names of all involved in this travesty, you will show him each and every document you know of that holds any meaning to what has transpired today, and you _will_ speak the truth in each village and town Sir. Boyd will take you, and tell every man and woman why there was blood spilled today. ´ both men nod their heads eagerly, and as Boyd gestures for them to follow him they hurry on obediently.

The near deafening roar of outrage as Boyd steps out of the tower with the two priests speaks of the volume of outraged his people felt over what had happened, even if they did not know all the details yet, there was a deep anger for the harm that had befallen their much loved Lady.

`What about him? ´ Derek asks, nods at the now silent man on the floor.

`Hang him with the rest, ´ Isaac responds, peering up at the few men and women that had already been hung from the stairs and the dark wooden banisters, most of them men he’d witnessed come for him with blades drawn but also a few he'd not seen before, but Isaac trusted Peter's judgement and that he'd not given these men and women a sudden-drop for fun.

`Mercy. Mercy, good Lord. ´ the priest cries out then, grabbing onto Isaac’s hand, kissing his ring with the desperation of a man sentenced to death.

Freeing himself from the disgusting man, Isaac hisses coldly, `Old man, I have no more mercy to give. You be grateful I am willing to give you as quick a death as this. ´

`Peter. ´ Derek called out, and soon his uncle, heavily scarred face appeared, moving like a true predator down the stairs, eyes bright with anger as he growled in the direction of the sobbing priest, `A Marriage of Necessity, what sort of repulsive being would support such a thing? ´

`That one. ´ Derek answers, before spitting at the old-man.

Isaac doesn’t doubt for a second that Peter will the death of the elder-priest a slow and painful one.

Walking into the only room in the tower that held a fireplace Isaac pulls out the locket that sat close to his heart, Derek had found it on the floor of the cathedral after the attack, the knife that had nicked Isaac’s throat had managed somehow managed to rip the necklace off of his neck as his wife moved to push him away from one of the many attackers that had come for him, the chain was replaced with the ribbon Isaac had taken from Stiles’ hair. Removing the locked from around his neck, Isaac starts towards the men kneeling on the floor surrounded by Hale-men.

When Raeken had greeted him on the steps of the Cathedral early that day, wearing his finest, Isaac hadn’t thought for a second that before sundown Raeken would be dead, and as they’d embraced each other on the steps of the place he now knew Raeken had designed to be his place of death, Isaac had not thought or felt there was any ill-will between them.

`_Beware of the snakes in the grass, Isaac, they are far more dangerous than threats you can see._ ´ Master Finstock had told him earlier that morning as Isaac went to take him his breakfast, back then he’d only imagined it being the ramblings of an ill and old-man but now he wondered if the only father figure he’d had was blessed with the gift of foresight.

The panicked screams of the elder-priest rang loudly up the tower, and yet Raeken didn’t seem to react at all to the distress of the man who’d devoted himself completely to him, and there remained a lack of any reaction when the screams stopped, but Isaac and Derek could hear the struggle of the elder-priest as the rope around his neck tightened around his neck.

Taking his seat, in the very chair he sat in whenever he was made to judge over disputes, Isaac kept his eyes on Raeken, and Raeken kept his eyes on him. Isaac held on tightly to the locket, struggling to stay in control now that he was in the same room as the bastard who’d planned his death, and who’d orchestrated be it unwillingly the possible death of the woman Isaac loved.

`Is she dead? ´ Raeken asks, almost as if this was a news of great importance to him.

`Why would it matter to you? ´ Isaac enquires, his hand wrapped around tightly to the locket, glaring all the while at the scum who’d had dark deeds in mind for his wife.

`Of course it matters. ´ Raeken hisses then, and if he wasn’t held in place by the strong arm of the She-wolf his wife got along with, Raeken might’ve made a move towards him.

`Why would it matter? ´ Isaac asks the soon to be dead man, who like those hanging from the banisters would not be given a proper burial.

`You and your men are intelligent enough to know that you will not see another dawn. ´

`Oh, I know I will be gone. ´ there’s something rather disturbing about the way Raeken is completely unbothered by his still young-life ending, `I’m simply wondering, ´ the bruised male says with a cruel smile drawn upon his broken lips, ` if I will be reunited with dear Stiles soon? ´

Unclenching is jaw which had started to hurt, leans forward and growls into Raeken’s face, `You’ll never come near her again. ´

`You can’t stop me. ´ Raeken cackled then, `You do not control the afterlife. ´

`That I do not. ´ Isaac agrees, because that much was true, Isaac had power over his land and his people, but the spirit world recognized no lords, no kings, no masters of any sort. 

`Raeken, what exactly makes you think, that I would abandon my wife after death? ´ Isaac questions the grinning man at his feet, voice steady and calm, serious as if he was informing his people of a new project to better their lives, `What makes you think I wouldn’t willingly follow my beloved to the afterlife, just so I can make sure _you_ will _never_ get your filthy hands on her. ´

**Author's Note:**

> So, I feel a need to tell what I imagined would happen after the sands of time ran the heck out on this fic. So, Theo gets to die, obviously, since the crowd demands his blood and the blood of the men involved in the attack on Isaac but above else their Good Lady. He gets a nice rope around his neck, but before Isaac personally shoves him out the window of the tower, and he watches Theo struggle for just a good while before cutting the rope and allowing him to fall to the ground, still alive, but bones broken, and then tells the people to do as they wish with the one who attempted to kill their Good Lady. And the crowd goes wild with lost for revenge, and so Theo has a not so pleasant death, and once he is dead, his body is cut-up and scattered around so that his spirit could never find peace but also to ensure no dark magic could bring him back. 
> 
> When Isaac returns home, he is greeted by the good news that his wife might survive her injuries, that the bite might take. It still takes days, nights of anxious waiting, before Stiles finally wakes immediately calling out for her husband who hasn’t left her side since he came back, the worry and anger draining from him as he captures her hand which had reached out to him. Kissing it softly before rising from his seat and leaning down to kiss her still clammy forehead, whispering against the pale skin, `You have aged my hundred-years, silly woman. ´   
`Worry not, husband, ´ Stiles would respond, smiling at Isaac who looks at her like he hasn’t seen her in a decade, `I still find you attractive enough. ´ That was the planed ending, but well, time ran from me like most things, aside form cats, do. 
> 
> Cats just follow me, which is cute until I have to turn around so that they don’t follow me home, and yes, I’ve had to dump cats on the steps of their home and tell them firmly to sit because apparently cats like me…. oh, God, if I lived in another time, I’d so be burned on the stake for being a witch. 
> 
> Hi there! Now that I'm posting this fic, I realize I have no idea how to tag it, so if you're willing to help me (the village idiot) out with suggestions, then I'm eager to take any help offered!


End file.
